King
by Sandikat
Summary: Based on a Scandinavian legendary saga Hrólfs saga Gautrekssonar. Thornbergr doesn't want anything to do with marriage. Hrolfr wants the shieldmaiden as his bride. Things are going to get interesting.
1. Act I

**Authors note: **This story is roughly based on Hrolfs saga Gautrekssonar. The character of King Thorbergr intrigued me but seeing as how I couldn't find any English translations of the Old Norse saga I decided to come up with my own. That said, it's nothing like the original at all (or at least I don't think so, I've never read the actual story), I just took the names because I liked them and a rough description of a plot because I liked that too.

* * *

The sounds of practice swords clashing did nothing to startle the peaceful morning. The sun still lit the fields and washed the sky with brilliant light. In the longhouse people were already bustling about to get their chores done and in the fields the men worked. Most of the men worked there anyway. King Thorbergr and her housecarls were in the fields too, only they were practicing a different craft.

The shield wall broke and men scattered, dashing forward with a yell into their foe and dueling off into pairs. One particularly unmatched pair was in the very center of the mock battle. "You better not be going easy on me Snorri!" came the cry, far too high pitched to be a man's voice and yet emanating from a slim figure in man's clothing.

"Wouldn't dream of it King Thorbergr!" the much larger man protested as he caught a blow from her practice sword. His shield and arm vibrated with the blow, but it did not hurt. Despite the young woman's lack of strength she was much quicker than her seasoned housecarl. Still, speed can only account for so much.

The housecarls always took great care of their king. Even though she dressed like a man, and partook in male activities, she still wasn't one and they all knew it. They respected her though. They respected her courage, her honor, and her strength. In her they saw nobility where the rest of the world saw an oddity. They would fight with her to the death.

While it sounded as though the group was practicing for a raid or perhaps battle on some foreign land in search of riches fit to make her housecarls as kingly as herself that was not what they were doing. True, the group was preparing for battle, but the people they battled were far worse than Britains: suitors. Gods! How Thorbergr hated them. She hated how they waltzed onto _her_ lands and into _her _longhouse and asked for her hand in marriage. Like anyone had the right! If she found someone to her liking she would pursue him, not the other way around. She had as much right as any man. She was a king!

The fighting didn't last long. Thorbergr's side always won, though it was questionable how this occurred. It could have been because Thorbergr always chose the best men for her side, or it could have been that they let her win because otherwise she would be a walking terror the rest of the day until the next practice. Thorbergr liked to think that it was because of her fighting prowess. She was not as good with a bow as Torbjorn was. She couldn't wield a sword with the skill of Halfdan. She couldn't even pick up Snorri's great battleaxe. She was always second best in everything they did, but this was to be expected. She was only a woman after all. Though, if Thorbergr ever heard of this she would be difficult to handle for a while.

The men and Thorbergr were slick with sweat by the time the battle was over and Thorbergr's side was declared the victors. Their king held up her fist in victory and all the men cheered before the entire retinue headed back for the long house. What Thorbergr wanted more than anything right now was to wash the sweat and grime from her face and have something done with her hair. It had tumbled loose during the battle and now flowed in blonde tangles on either side of her proud face. Deidra would fix it up though. Thorbergr wasn't sure what she'd do without Deidra. She'd probably look even more like a man.

The old trell had been her nursemaid as a child, and Thorbergr considered her almost a mother-_almost. _She knew that Deidra disapproved of the way she dressed herself in men's clothing and fought like a man, and worked with the men rather than in the longhouse with the other women. But what Deidra didn't understand was the freedom of it. To be cooped up in a longhouse all day weaving and sewing was fine for some women, but not for Thorbergr. That was why she had moved to the estate her father, King Erik, had given her and renamed herself King Thorbergr. That was how the men referred to her, and some of the other women, but she could never get Deidra to do it. The old woman still resolutely called Thorbergr by her given name: Thorbjorg. There wasn't much Thorbergr could do about it. The king was too old to pitch a fit, and besides, she knew Deidra wouldn't mind smacking some sense into her. Oh, sure, Thorbergr could have her killed for disobedience, but you couldn't order your mother's death. That just wasn't something you did.

Thorbergr swaggered into the longhouse. At first it was hard to see, dimmer than it was outside in the morning light, but it didn't take long for her pale eyes to adjust and soon she was making her way towards Deidra. She felt warm and hazy, like her blood ran thick with mead. She often felt this good after a victory, despite the fact that it was a mock battle and that she always won those. Still, winning always felt good.

The old woman looked up when she heard the footsteps and clicked her tongue softly at the sight that greeted her. The young woman dressed in muddy men's clothes standing straight and tall before her, her hair in wild tangles framing her face and her eyes glittering proudly in the firelight. She was beautiful and breathless in an instant, something to make a mother proud, and then she was simply a dirty young woman again. "Such a mess little Thorbjorg." Thorbergr had to catch herself from making a face at her old nurse. She wasn't little anymore. She was a woman! She was the strongest woman in Sweden! She did not enjoy being talked down to like she was a child who had gone off to play in the mud again. "Come here child, let's fix that wild hair of yours," the old woman beckoned for the younger one to sit besides her on the sheepskin that lined the benches of the longhouse, putting her card of wool to the side.

Thorbergr sat out of habit, pulling off her hat. Deidra was the only person who could tell Thorbergr what to do. The young king didn't even respect her father as much. As Deidra pulled the comb out of the satchel attached to her belt and started to make sense of the wild tangles, Thornbergr recounted the battle from earlier.

"It was a wonderful practice Deidra! You should have been there!" the woman made a sound that could have been translated as interest and so Thorbergr continued. "Our shield wall was flawless! It took the enemy longer than usual to get to us."

"Thornbjorn stop squirming." the older woman reprimanded. The king stiffened and sat as straight as possible.

"How was Halfdan?" one of the girls asked from behind her loom.

Thorbergr grinned. "Halfdan was fine. He has a right way with a sword." she knew that Hilde often worried about her husband. "How's the weaving going?"

Deidra tugged harder than she really needed to at a snarl of Thorbergr's hair and the young king winced in a hiss of pain but said nothing. "You would know if you spent any time in the longhouse working on it," the older woman reprimanded. Thorbergr said nothing though her face set in an unpleasant expression. "What are you going to do when you get married child? You can't expect your husband to run the longhouse for you, or do the weaving, or bear the children. You ought to be working on those sorts of things because you'll be married before you know it." No one but Deidra could get away with saying these things, still, the other woman had stopped their work and were staring at the king and her nurse in shock, wondering what Thorbergr would say.

"I'm not going to be married-"

"Thorbjorg," Deidra interrupted.

"Let me finish!" Thorbergr snapped pale eyes blazing. In her passion she stood up as she proclaimed "I am not going to be married. Never will a man have power over me!" the young woman's expression softened then, and she turned towards the startled woman behind her, who was now looking from the young king to the comb in her hand impatiently. "Besides, I'll still have you, won't I? I don't need to learn everything now." Thorbergr sat back down, and Deidra placed a gentle hand on her shoulder.

"Old women don't live forever you know," she replied softly, and then went back to fixing the mess that was the king's hair.

Thorbergr pursed her lips and grew silent as Deidra combed through her hair. She hadn't thought there would ever be a time when the old woman wouldn't be there, but it was true, death hit when you least expected it. Thorbergr wasn't afraid of death. She knew everyone's weaving would eventually end. Still, it was a sobering thought to realize that the people in this room could all die today, or tomorrow, or years from now.

"Alright old woman. I'll agree to learn to manage a longhouse, the weaving, and the sewing but you have to promise me you're not going to die on me anytime soon," Thorbergr had turned around to grin at her old nurse.

"It's a deal. Now stop moving you cheeky little troll, unless you want your hair half finished." with a smile the young king turned back around and let Deidra finish her hair.


	2. Act 2

It was a good day for flying. The old man smiled fondly as he watched the hawk's sharp wings slice through the blueness of the sky. He wasn't too old, his face was lined with distinguished wrinkles and his hair was frosted with silver, but he wasn't ancient. Still, the half-there look in his blue eyes was enough to make a son worry, and that was exactly what Hrolfr did.

"Father is flying his hawk by mother's mound again," Hrolfr informed his brother Ketill. Ketill nodded in understanding.

"He hasn't done much else since she died," the elder of the two brothers said, watching Hrolfr in a half worried fashion. Hrolfr was the younger of the two; the baby of the family. Ketill wasn't sure how Hrolfr was taking it, first their mother's death and now their father's slow slide into insanity. Ketill himself was having trouble dealing with it, but he was a man, he couldn't let anyone know how much it bothered him. Hrolfr was still young, however, young and foolish. But Ketill had to remember that his brother was a man as well, and no longer the boy he remembered him to be.

"I know," Hrolfr glanced behind him, shielding his eyes from the sun with his hand, and followed the path of the hawk as it slid through the sky.

Ketill and Hrolfr stood in silence for a few moments before the elder decided to break it. "So, Hrolfr, got your eyes on any pretty maids?" he had decided it was time for a change in subject and teasing his younger brother about women was always a good sport.

Hrolfr grinned at his brother. "Always Ketill."

Ketill roared with laughter and slapped his brother roughly on the back so that the younger stumbled forwards ever so slightly before he regained his balance. "I'm glad you think I'm pretty," Ketill replied grinning like a fool. "I was speaking of a wife, however. Father has given you an estate, you ought to be starting a family!"

"I can't leave you to-" Hrolfr started to protest before Ketill inturupted.

"Of course you can! What? You don't believe I can handle the estate and father? You shame my honor brother."

Hrolfr held up his hands in protest. "That isn't what I meant brother, I meant-"

Again Ketill interrupted. "Wonderful! Now all we need to do is find you a wife. What about the princess of Uppsala?"

Hrolfr tried not to look shaken. Rumors flew around that woman. Some said she wasn't a woman. Some said she had access to unknown magics. Some said that she delighted in stealing the manhood of those who tried to conquer her. Ketill laughed at the expression on his brother's face. You would have thought Ketill'd suggested he marry a troll. Still, Hrolfr didn't protest, simply nodded in a numb fashion.

Ketill clapped his arm around his brother's broad shoulders. "It would be the most noble marriage in the Northlands to have the daughter of the king at Uppsala for a wife," he grinned. "But many men have little courage compared to the size of their flesh. It is a shame that you are a man who dares not speak to women." the elder brother goaded.

Hrolfr took the bait. As soon as his courage was pulled into question his brows knit together and he studied his elder brother sternly. _"I_ dare. I must plan." and with that the younger brother went back to find his housecarls. He would need help if he was to woo the warrior princess of Sweden.

Hrolfr's foster brother was Ingjald of Denmark. Like regular brothers, some foster brothers got along, and others didn't. Hrolfr and Ingiald were a pair that got along very well. Ingiald studied his foster brother carefully as he considered what the young man had said. "You wish to marry the princess of Uppsala?"

Hrolfr nodded that his foster brother was indeed correct. He planned to woo the warrior princess of Sweden and make her his bride. "I need your help to do it brother. You have heard the tales, I'm sure."

Ingiald nodded in understanding. "How many men do you have?"

"I have forty men who are willing to help me," Hrolfr said. It was a good number, but according to the tales it would not be enough. It was said that the princess had a large retinue of well trained housecarls who were there specifically to chase off suitors. The princess and her companions would have the advantage here, he was sure, but that didn't mean he was going to give up so easily. "Will you and your men join me?"

Ingiald studied his foster brother for a moment before nodding slowly. "Of course, I will help a brother in need." he grinned. "Now you have sixty men."

"Good," Hrolfr's eyes gleamed. "We leave at dawn for Uppsala."


	3. Act 3

There was a shriek of frustration followed by something crashing to the ground. Hearing cursing emanating from the longhouse the older woman hurried as quickly as she could back inside. It had clearly been a mistake for her to leave Thorbergr unattended like that. None of the other women could deal with the young king's temper as well as Deidra could.

The older woman entered the house, carefully stepping over the threshold so as not to trip. It was dim inside, or at least, it was dimmer than it had been outside. Light radiated from the hole in the center of the roof made for smoke to go out, and as the old woman's eyes adjusted she could see the mess in front of her. Luckily for them Thorbergr had not destroyed the loom, opting instead to take her frustration out on the sleeping bench. She had rattled the thing so much that numerous possessions had fallen clattering to the ground.

Stepping gingerly over the debris Deidra made her way over to the young king's side. "Thorbjorg," she snapped, "stop this nonsense at once." She then turned towards the other women who had been cowering from the king's anger. However, they finally had the sense of mind to get back to work.

The old woman sat primly beside the glowering girl, reaching out a hand to push her messy blond hair back into place. "I'll never get it Deidra," Thorbergr complained. The other women could all card, weave, sew, embroider, cook and do various other household chores in circles around her. Sure, she knew how to wield a sword, but when you were fighting a dress swords were merely cumbersome.

"Thorbjorg," the old woman said tenderly. "These are not things you can learn overnight," even though it had not been overnight, it had been nearly a month and while Thorbergr actually knew _how_ to work a loom she still wasn't particularly good at it. Her stitches too were lopsided and clumsy like a child's.

What made the entirety of the matter worse was that Thorbergr had not been outside recently. Well, she had been outside, but she _hadn't_ been dashing about madly with a sword trying to bean the brains out of people like she normally did. She was stiff with inactivity and about to go mad. The young king wanted to be out practicing with her men, and not cooped up in the longhouse with a bunch of batty women learning how to become one of them. She knew deep down she would never fit in. They respected her. They looked up to her. Thorbergr, however, would never be one of the women.

"I did not expect to learn such things overnight!" the young king shot back at the old trell. This wasn't true of course. She figured that if she could easily do men's work then women's work would come to her as easily as sleeping. It had not.

Deidra regarded the young woman skeptically but said nothing. "Here, let me take a look at your handiwork," she said as she gently took the cloth that Thorbergr was working on away from her.

Noticing the intent, Thorbergr shoved it at the older woman. "Oh Deidra, I'm hopeless!" she complained, knowing that almost everyone in the longhouse agreed with her for it and hating herself even more. "Why couldn't I have been born a man?"

"Ours is not to question the will of the God's," the old woman responded without looking up.

"I'd rather be a man," Thorbergr said anyway. "Then no one would ever expect me to know how to sew, or cook, or weave."

"No," Deidra responded. "Then they would expect you to do hard labor, to build ships and fight on foreign lands against innocent people. They would expect you to kill and to loot, and to take home slaves," being one, the old woman wasn't entirely happy with this practice. She herself had been stolen from her home in Ireland some forty years before. "You would work in the field and fight other men for your honor."

Thorbergr stared at the old trell. She made all those fantastic things sound horrible.

"Neither men nor women have it better, child," the old woman said at last. "It is well you remember that, and be thankful for what the God's gave you."

The young king made a noise that showed she understood but didn't like at all what she was hearing. She would still rather have been born a man. Then she would not have to deal with the whisperings, the hatred, the suitors and the stares.

"King Thorbergr!" everyone turned to stare at the shape of the man in the doorway. He moved further inside, his breathing heavy and sweat streaming down the sides of his face.

Thorbergr jumped to her feet. "Halfdan! What is wrong?"

"Ships have landed on the coast. We count about sixty men. Their intent seems to be to come here," his voice was breathy but he got out what he needed to say.

The young king frowned. "I must prepare to welcome our guests," she said slowly as she turned away from the man who collapsed into the arms of his adoring wife.

While the other women fussed over Halfdan Deidra followed Thorbergr back to where she stored her personal belongings. The young woman pulled a key from around her neck and knelt down besides a chest, opening the lock with a small clicking sound. Inside was her most prized procession. It was battle armor. Battle armor made specifically for a princess. It was rare stuff indeed.

The young woman turned to her old trell. "Help me with this," Thorbergr was too busy thinking about what would happen to thank the older woman or even pretend to be kind.

There was only one reason that a group of armed men that large would come here, and it wasn't for a chat. Her lips unusually tight, and her countenance more frightening than usual, the young woman readied herself for battle.


End file.
